


Every Time We Have No Control

by EverythingShines



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 9x6, 9x6 alternate ending, Face it You’re Gorgeous, Gallavich Reunion, Ian's POV, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Reunion, worst thing I’ve ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:38:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingShines/pseuds/EverythingShines
Summary: Face It, You’re Gorgeous extended end scene. Ian and Mickey reunion.





	Every Time We Have No Control

Ian pulled on the scratchy jumpsuit. It was the strangest yellow. Not a sunny, warm yellow. Not a friendly, mellow yellow. It was sickly, mocking, institutionalized yellow. And he’d seen it before, back when he was committed after running away with Yevgeny. Ian recalled the ugly guilt that had remained the only constant the last time he wore this color.

_Can’t think about that now._

He furrowed his brows as the guard handed him a stack of stiff bedding. Ian glanced at the guard preparing to lead him further into the concrete fortress. He was surprisingly calm. He’d been incarcerated before. But the emotion of saying goodbye to his family had stirred up a sense of vulnerability within him, especially after the long days of anticipation. He'd come to terms with the fact that he’d be here a while. It’d be okay.

Ian had even been quietly hoping Shim’s words would be able to reach him now that he was locked up again. He was looking forward to getting to his cell and centering himself, to put it as the monk he recently met had put it. Ian thought it made sense that he couldn’t hear Shim after he’d left county lock up and returned home. It was too loud there. He couldn’t hear his own thoughts, let alone a deity’s.

Ian shook his head softly to clear his mind. He was waiting to call upon Shim, saving it until he could truly focus on testing his ability to listen. He turned his mind back to his surroundings as he was prodded along, feeling like cattle. This would be good for him. He could get back to himself. Away from the repetitive south side drama, the loud gay Jesus following, the constant reminders from his family that he should be back on his meds. They didn’t understand that Ian was _special. Chosen._ Shim had picked Ian to deliver his messages and carry out his mission of peace. He couldn't do any of it if he was stuffed up brain-fogging pills. Now that Ian had completely rid his system of the psych meds, he felt cleaner, clearer, and closer to himself.

Ian and his guard finally reached the “neighborhood” that would be his. It was almost as if the other dwellers had been anticipating his arrival. There were a few mean muggers, a few cat-callers. He could handle it, but he knew he had to look sharp. He wouldn’t cower from the hardened, threatening, or leering stares. He also needed to be on the lookout for disciples to join him and the mission Shim had commanded. Maybe he’d spot one of the guys Antonio had mentioned. Ian realized he should’ve paid closer attention to the ex-con’s words because now it was all jumbled in his head. All he could remember was something about Disney, fucking Snickers bars, and good blowies. It didn’t matter. He just wanted to be alone so he could try to reach Shim in peace and quiet.

The guard took Ian up a set of rickety stairs to the second level of cells. The narrow walkway was lined with loitering prisoners.

 _So much for quiet_ , he thought as they stopped at a cell that was to be Ian’s. Thankfully, it was empty. Ian flinched at the loud, reverberating slam of the heavy door. A fluorescent bulb overhead flickered. Now that he was as alone as he could hope for, clanging and chattering muted, fear set in. For the next couple of years, this was it. 

Ian noted that the bottom bunk was dressed, and briefly wondered what his companion would look like. He set his bedding on the vacant top bunk, and immediately bowed his head to open a prayer to Shim. No sooner than his eyes closed, he heard the metal door cranked open again. _Fuck,_ Ian thought, bracing himself to meet who he hoped was his cell mate, and not “welcome committee” here to force him into submission, as was common in prison initiation. His mind was going a mile a minute, but he took a beat to steady himself. He could do this.

The door clanged shut, and Ian turned around. Ian’s eyes widened at the sight of a familiar, dark-haired man standing before him. Ian's lips parted in surprise as he mentally smacked himself to be sure his brain correctly processed what his eyes were showing him. _Mickey._

The shorter man was looking up at him with a slight, almost sly smile. He stood there with an air of presentation, not wasting seconds before speaking.

“I rolled on a cartel I was working for, and in exchange, guess who gets to pick where he gets locked up?” Ian could tell the words had been rehearsed. A quick, short explanation for his presence. 

“Holy fuck.” Ian breathed, as the recognition of the man’s voice confirmed what his eyes had seen. Ian had felt shock several times in his life, and this was up there with that infamous Thanksgiving when Monica had spilled her blood all over the kitchen floor. He felt his own blood rush to his face with perplexity. When Ian remembered to release the rest of the breath he was holding, his mind flooded with questions. _What does this mean—why are you here—how did you know...?_   But the man spoke up again.

“Oh, hey,” he said, stepping forward as the light flickered again. “I got bottom, so... you’re on top.” he finished with a lilt in his voice as he reclined back into the lower bunk. Ian let out another spray of relieved breath, taking in the moment. Mickey watched him, amused. Of course Mickey Milkovich would find the shock of Ian’s life entertaining.

Ian felt his own cheeks pull back into a small, amazed smile. He bolted forward, needed to touch Mickey to further confirm his presence. Ian hovered over Mickey, grasping his wrist with one hand, and caressing the sunglazed, stubbled face. Ian took in the small differences age had impressed upon it. Here in Mickey’s atmosphere, Ian felt the strangest sensation of having found home. His eyes welled as his heart seemed to pull Ian closer to Mickey of it’s own accord.

Mickey reached up to lightly press a reassuring hand to the nape of Ian’s neck. His eyes never left Ian’s face as his own emitted pure adoration. Mickey nudged Ian’s nose with his own, and Ian gave into the overwhelming desire to kiss the man beneath him. The two shared the sweetest kiss; Mickey’s supple, wet lips pulled ever so slowly, gently at Ian’s as if to soothe him. When it ended, there was no hesitation to the next, more insistent kiss. As quickly as Ian felt himself harden under his thin, unforgiving layers, he felt Mickey’s arousal as well. However, neither man was in any rush to end the gratifying reunion, but Ian pulled his lips away to rest his forehead against Mickey’s.

“For me?” Ian whispered. “Did you do it for me?” Mickey’s lips still wore a warm smile as he reached up to take Ian’s face in both hands. 

“Nah, man, actually I came back for a redhead named Gallagher, but a black-haired gay Jesus just might do it for me.” Mickey cracked. Ian laughed and buried his face into Mickey’s neck, droplets of reverence actually falling from his eyes now. He inhaled, seeking the familiar scent that he tied to the man below him.

Suddenly, Ian heard the door handle to the cell crank open again.

 

 

_Crack._

 

 

Ian’s head popped up so fast he smacked it against the rails of the top bunk.

“What the fuck are you doing?” An angry voice called out as Ian groaned. He blinked a couple times after seeing stars and looked up to the threshold of the cell to see a slightly older man in a yellow jumpsuit walking toward him. “Get the fuck off my bunk, man.”

“What?” Ian asked, confused. He turned to look back down at Mickey and got the second shock of the day. The bunk below him was empty. Ian’s mouth fell open as he frantically looked around the cell to find that he and the newcomer were the only two occupants. The man grabbed Ian by the front of his jumpsuit and roughly yanked him off the bed.

“You go through my shit? Take anything?” The man went on.

“N-n-no,” Ian stammered, still stunned as he rubbed his head. The man was checking his belongings at the foot of the bed and glanced over at Ian. Now that Ian was standing, the man’s eyes landed on the rapidly shrinking bulge in the crotch of Ian’s jumpsuit.

“You a fuckin’ perv?” He asked, and rose to square up with Ian.

“N-no,” Ian said, humiliated and addled. The man shoved Ian up against the wall, angry and equally as bewildered.

“Stay off my bed, man, or we’re gonna have a problem.” The man gave Ian one last glare and left again.

Ian scrambled up to the top bunk and hugged his knees up to himself, wondering what the hell just happened. It wasn’t difficult to figure it out. The sobering realization hit that he’d just hallucinated that his ex-lover, Mickey Milkovich, had come to save him. Ian curled up on his side and muffled his inconsolable sobs into the scratchy pile of government-issued blankets, knowing he was truly alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry for this. This was my initial theory after watching it the first time. Felt like I needed to share it and get anyone else’s thoughts. 
> 
> I think it could still fit, but now that Cam and Noel are coming back, my hopes are *sky-high.*
> 
> Also, I wonder if anyone else had this theory?


End file.
